I've grown accustomed to her face
by rediver
Summary: Miranda was just accustomed to Andrea's face...or maybe not?


**For the DWP comm fic-a-thon **

A/N: 1-Hi guys! thats my first try in writting a fic, so, please give me a break *S*  
>2- English is not my first language, so BIG THANKS to my amazing beta, XENAVIRGIN, who had helped me a lot with my , you´re totally my hero!<br>3- Prompt " I´ve grown accustomed to her face" , from **mindmypensieve** . As the prompt suggests, it was inspired by the movie "My Fair Lady""

Throughout the cocktail party, Miranda was absorbed in deep thought. She could not accept that Andrea was really gone. The idea that she would never see that face again, the amazing smile that had saluted her every morning, no that was totally unacceptable. It certainly wasn't the case that Miranda had feelings for the girl, of course not! It was more a matter of custom. She had just grown accustomed to her face, nothing to do with feelings, just the same thing as one becoming accustomed to a comfortable chair, a pretty picture, a piece of furniture that fulfils its purpose ... usual, only custom.

"A custom which is easy to discard, oh yes, very easy, but if it's so easy, why does it hurt so much? It hurts, and I do not want to think about it anymore."

In the car, going back to the hotel, Miranda felt the anger of knowing that no one would be waiting for her, no one would be there to help. Of course she called Emily, and ordered the assistant to tell Jocelyn she was now responsible for assisting Miranda until the end of Fashion Week, as well as answering to the art department. Of course, Miranda is totally self-sufficient, does not actually _need_ anyone, she is totally capable of completing her work here and returning to NY, where Emily will have found someone acceptable for the job.

"I do not want to think about it anymore! Who does she think she is? Leaving me in the middle of the most important week of the year! That cheeky brat! Just who does she think she is? And why is it that instead of ordering Emily to blacklist her, all I want to do is lie on my hotel bed and cry for days? Why is this happening? She is nothing, just a tool that makes my job a tiny bit easier. This is not about feelings, only custom. But then why can't I stop the tears from falling?"

In the hotel room at last, Miranda dropped onto the living room couch, not wishing to turn the the lights on, or take a shower, or change clothes. Everything seems so hard, everything is so heavy, weighing down on her, crushing her. With time, Miranda realises if she was able to she would swap one hundred worthless husbands to have Andrea again in the adjoining room.

"So this might not be just a bad habit then? Impossible! She is a woman, she is half my age, she is nothing, a nobody. How could someone like that have made their way into my life, into my heart? No! I do not want to think! "

Miranda opened a bottle of expensive whiskey from her mini-bar, and served herself a double dose. Downing the glass in one swallow may not have been a good idea, now the room is spinning, her stomach wants to throw up, and the pain is still there, nothing can erase it!

"Shit! All I want now is to disappear! "

Someone knocks on the door. Miranda has no desire to see anyone, her eyes are red and swollen, her makeup is a mess, the room is spinning, her stomach wants to expel its contents, everything is so heavy, it's so hard to breathe.

"Who is the unfortunate person who does not realize that since this afternoon the world is all wrong, who is it that insists on disturbing me so?"

Miranda then hears the sound of a card being inserted into the reader and the door opening.

"It cannot be ... can it? She would not come back to me again….or would she?"

"M-Miranda ... um ... I do ... well ..."

Miranda's heart races, it feels like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. Suddenly it is so much easier to breathe, and unexpected warmth spreads throughout her body, driving away all the sadness of that hotel room.

Turning her back to Andrea to hide the mess that she had become in thos few hours, the only thing that Miranda could think of to say was, "Andrea? Where are my scarves? I would be very disappointed if you had forgotten to bring them."

Andrea smiled and let out a sigh of relief, "They are here with me, Miranda."

Suddenly there was no more pain. The world returned to normal.

'She's here, I am not alone, she has returned to me!" Miranda might not be able to define exactly what the young girl was to her, but if her presence in her life was a bad habit, then it was one she intended to keep.


End file.
